Dominance. In his handshakes, no exhibition of histrionics.
"Plain message..", she just talked to her own ear.
Since the last peek of the moon, she held anticipation
of scenarios of pleading, and kneeling, and lying.
There's a poise. Her eyes won't betray her.
His back was hunched than ever, his hat covering his gut.
Still, his distorted sins won't be mantled, she's certain.
"That couch rip might devour you.." she again talked to
her own ear, while watching four streaming grains of sweat
on his right sideburn. He let go of a stuttering first syllable.
"Scared. Uncertain.." she heard herself through a whiff.
Motionless, she glanced at his dead ashy hands. They
were more thinned by his guilt. They were clasped, but
thumbs rolling at each other. "Assuring himself..,"
she murmured, though hidden in a brief cough.
He is too anxious. Eager to explain, eager to pass through.
Did she hear "remorsed"? Never his still forehead indicated.
Nothing anything to fathom from his lowered eyes.
Lingering and swaying in the humid air:
red hand takes a purple terror
love knows these nuts
when we escape from the madhouse
we will... hunt down...
....between the battle of pain and hate
we will wait, but not for our time
we'll for hate and to take
to deep... throat...Tonight, we......
Everything in her view and every tempo and hesitation
in his call.... Well, in everything, sincerity was abolished.
She might as well abolish discernment, decency.
Keen eyes. Too cautious, the unsound mind was fashioned.
Since square one, it's there. His language is screaming.
She thought he might strive to understand hers.
Tonight, she murdered.
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